Strawberries
by Sagashiteru
Summary: Misa slices strawberries for Light's birthday cake. LightMisa fluff. Spoilers.


**This fic assumes Light and Misa are still alive, and that Light defeated N, and that Misa's had her memories restored.**

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Misa loved strawberries.

She sliced a whole bunch of them, working on the far side of the room, humming that tune to herself – that haunting, painfully beautiful tune that was like a cold knife in his heart, because she sang of a tale of two lovers. It killed him to know she sang it about _them_ – him and her, and that her love for him hadn't diminished in the least, despite all that he'd put her through. He didn't deserve such devotion, but the song was stuck in his head; he'd find himself humming it to himself at times, and each time he caught it, it reminded him of how things once were.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts.

Forty-four, forty-five, forty-six… Forty-six names he entered today – forty-six people judged. It was around twice the usual number, all set to die at different times over today and tomorrow, because tomorrow he would probably not get the chance to use the Death Note. He'd hide it away, even – wouldn't take it out until the next day. It wasn't worth the risk if he could simply schedule the criminals' deaths today.

It had been two years since the defeat of Near. He'd thought he'd had it, at that time, but he'd pulled through at the last second. Now he and Misa lived in a small apartment near the heart of a city. The apartment had only two rooms: a bedroom and – well – another room, one that served as a living room and a kitchen and everything in between. On the wall opposite the main door there was a couch, an adjacent loveseat, a TV on the wall, and a coffee table in the center. To the left, opposite the loveseat, there was the kitchen, and there was a dining table, accommodating four people, behind the couch. All in all, in was a relatively small apartment, but it was roomy, with plenty of space to walk and host a fairly large number of people if they wanted, except that he _never_ wanted to host anybody.

Light was not fond of parties. Even without the work of judging people, he was busy enough as it was; he made time for Misa, but he wouldn't put off his work for anyone else. If it'd been up to him, he wouldn't celebrate his birthday past a quiet date with her, but she insisted. She wouldn't let him work on the "most important day of his life", as she said. He deserved a rest for all his tireless work, she'd tell him. He tried to convince her otherwise, but only halfheartedly, because he loved that fire in her eyes. Besides, he couldn't ask his mother and sister not to celebrate his birthday.

So they were coming over tomorrow; they'd celebrate his birthday, and they'd bring cake, and they'd bring _people_. Light would have thought Misa would be more understanding, but she was already excited over the prospect of seeing Sayu and Sachiko after several weeks, and she'd gone ahead and invited a bunch of her friends too, but he couldn't very well refuse her and break her heart – he'd done enough of that for a lifetime already.

"These are sooo good," she said, her voice muffled as if by some food in her mouth. Somewhat amused, he looked over at her, and found her eyes closed, chewing on what was no doubt one of her precious strawberries. He snorted, and suddenly it struck him how far they'd come in the last couple of months.

To the world, they'd always been the perfect couple – two lovebirds who'd moved in together at eighteen and spent every living moment together, but in reality, that could not have been further from the truth. He hadn't cared; she was a tool for him to be used and discarded at his leisure. At least, that was what he used to think.

He'd had it all planned out, and he followed his plan. He said he loved her when he wanted something done, rewarded her with a meaningless kiss when she followed his command (always perfectly), and used her to pleasure himself at night. She was completely devoted to him – he had her love, her worship, her awe, and her complete faithfulness. Her body and her heart were both his, but he didn't give a fuck about her. Or he hadn't. Somewhere along the way, however, she'd melted his heart – she'd split it open and settled into the seams.

"Come try some," she called.

He hadn't realized she'd known he hadn't had a care for her. In fact, when he stopped to consider her feelings for the first time in their lives, he'd realized he'd _never_ _considered her feelings before_ – never realized she was a person, with hopes and dreams and fears and desires, who loved him with all her heart and wanted nothing more than to make him happy, than to _mean_ something to him. It had all changed _that_ night, when he'd found her weeping silently, alone, and wondered how often she did that. He couldn't grasp fully what went through him at that sight, but he knew one thing – he never wanted to see those tears again. It was that night he'd realized that he was in love with her. Fuck building a new world, fuck punishing criminals, fuck power – what was the point of everything – anything – if she wasn't happy? It was the first time he'd stopped to consider what she meant to him.

There she stood, slicing strawberries for his cake on the countertop, so happy, so full of life, and a sudden burst of raw, burning hatred for himself for the fact he would once have killed her without a thought swallowed him.

He vaulted over the back of the couch, and made his way to her. She finished slicing one of the fruit into four, then pushed them to the side into a small mountain of others. He stepped forward, taking his place beside her. He peeked inside the bowl, and found there wasn't a single strawberry left.

"You ate all the strawberries," he said, unable to keep the slight amusement from his voice.

"Mmm," she said, her eyes closed, savoring the taste of the last of the fruit. He found himself unable to resist her.

"You wanted me to try them."

"Mm." She swallowed delicately. She poked his nose. He blinked. "Too late. Should've come quicker."

"Then… I suppose this is the only way for me to see how they taste like." Putting one finger under her chin, he tipped her head up, finding her eyes wide and her breath heavy. He smirked, and dipped his head down.

As he kissed her soft lips, he almost felt as if a jolt went through his being. His tongue danced a soft waltz with hers. The taste of ripe strawberries mixed with the taste of _her_ left him breathless. He licked her top teeth, and cupped her face in his hands. He scraped his teeth along lower lip, then bit down gently, as she herself often did when she was nervous. Staring into her beautiful eyes, he broke the kiss, finding himself getting lost in their depths and leaving her out of breath.

He took her left hand and kissed the tip of her thumb, and her index and middle fingers, stained red from the strawberries, and sucked each gently for a moment, eliciting a quiet moan from her.

"If this cake tastes half as good as you," he said, "it'll be the best birthday I've ever had."

She smiled shyly, as if she still thought the events of the past few months too good to be true.

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight into his chest. She melted into him, her arms snaking around him and holding him, and she laid her head against the sound of his beating heart. He sensed the hint of desperation that was there in her movements. He kissed the top of her head, the scent of her shampoo hitting him like a tsunami. Behind her shampoo there was another scent, sweeter, fresher, more exhilarating – _her_ – and he felt his heart wrench. The torment he'd put her through, back when all he thought about was power, flashed in his mind like bullets, and he had to admire the girl he held in his arms. She was not an idiot; she'd known he cared nothing for her, yet she'd stuck with him for all those years. Her strength stumped him; not a single groan of pain did she let him hear – not a single tear did she let him see. He marveled at how fragile, delicate, precious, someone so strong could feel in his arms. He knew he could never escape the fact that there had once been a time he would have killed her as flippantly and nonchalantly as he'd killed Takada, and she knew it too. He had no idea how he could ever make up for it all – or if he ever could, but he'd be damned if he didn't spend every minute of the rest of his life trying.

His embrace grew tighter. "I love you, Misa," he said softly.

" _I love you too_ …" she whispered. " _So much_."

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 **Light is definitely not one of my favorite manga/anime characters, but he didn't deserve the ending he got. i mean come on. that shit sucked. the second half of the series wasn't nearly as good as the first, and the ending... ugh.**

 **how did light survive? in the anime, when he's panicking in the last episode, and theres a moment where he has his back to everyone and takes the clipping out from his watch, then fucking announces that he has a fucking pen. like seriously dude? how dumb are you? anyway i imagine he doesn't pull that dumbass fucking stunt and instead pricks his finger with the other thing and quietly writes all their names. then he proceeds to make mikami forfeit the notebook and gives it to misa. that's how it should have been.**

 **anyway i really enjoyed writing his one-shot. tell me if you want me to write other based on prompts and stuff. i really really really looove favs and reviews so please? ^_^ my kawaii face is on point.**

 **thanks for reading and *cough* reviewing *cough***


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